


Fading Scars

by 2momsmakearight



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Grief, Infertility, MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2momsmakearight/pseuds/2momsmakearight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: I told her to never give up on a miracle, but as I stand here I see that a miracle stands before me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Scars

"Fading Scars"  
By: 2momsmakearight  
Rating: T-M  
Summary: I told her to never give up on a miracle, but as I stand here I see that a miracle stands before me.

\---

Her room is dark, but her creamy skin shines in the darkness, the moon casting her in blues and grays. I stand in her doorway, gripping the jam with such force I'm sure I'm going to get splinters under my fingernails. 

I told her to never give up on a miracle, but as I stand here I see that a miracle stands before me. She's naked. Bare. Her body an offering, the ultimate gift a woman can give a man. 

Her chest rises and falls with each breath, her breasts moving as her lungs expand. The shadows dance off her curves, trailing down her skin as the night moves across the sky. 

She reaches for my hand, and I walk across the room to take it, standing in front of her where I cup her warm cheeks between my hands. 

I see the pain in her eyes, the deject hopelessness that comes from wanting something so fiercely and being denied it. I wanted this baby for her. I wanted it for myself, if I'm really being honest, but I wanted it for her more. 

Her. 

Scully. The woman who holds the other half of my soul, even if she doesn't know it. The woman who was to be the mother of my child. 

Tears burn my eyes, and I swallow convulsively, my throat thick with unshed emotion. My heart aches for her, for this woman who has had so much stolen from her. She doesn't deserve the life she was given. She doesn't deserve this. 

I certainly don't deserve her. 

But I can't back away. Her hands are soft against my chest as she rakes them under my sweater, feeling, exploring. Her eyes burn into mine, communicating, imploring. She needs this. She needs this moment. 

She needs me. 

Who am I to deny the woman I love? 

Her breath is warm against my cheek as my lips touch her face, kissing her cheeks, her eyes; the saltiness of her tears absorbing into my skin. My hands run down her face, cupping her neck, my fingers dancing along her collarbone. My lips soon follow, my tongue tracing the blue veins of her chest. Discovering her. Tasting her. 

My lips move to her mouth and she moans, her tongue darting out to play with mine as we taste each other. Her lips are soft, plump and smooth between my own and I feel the pull of her flesh when I drag them between my teeth, a low moan escaping her throat. 

My fingers are light as I trail them up her sides and she twitches, my fingers electric against her skin. She whimpers in my mouth, pushing her chest against mine. 

"Touch me," I hear her whisper into my open mouth. Pleading. Wanting. Her desire is so vulnerable it makes my chest ache. 

I gasp when my hands cover her breasts, fuller, heavier than what I had imagined. She gasps, her body jerking when my thumbs circle her dark nipples. Her body is an enigma, a puzzle I'm willing to spend the rest of my life learning how to put together. 

Her hands thread in my hair, holding my face to her breasts as I bring my tongue to one hardened nipple, swirling around it, watching it rise. She tastes exquisite, clean, smooth with the hint of her perfume. 

I close my mouth around a nipple, suckling it into my mouth, my tongue and teeth working in tandem, flicking and stroking the sensitive nub. Her breath hitches, and she sobs a moan above me, her fingers tightening through my hair. 

It's only when I pull back that I see her head is thrown back, tears streaming down her face. I drop to my knees, resting my face against her belly, her hands loving and tender as she holds me there. 

I want to kiss her pain away. I want my touch to heal her, to make her whole again. I want to make love to her all night long, so long that we both forget all the heartache. I want my body to give her what she desires the most. 

Whether it's a baby, or just one night in her arms, I want to give her anything, everything her heart desires. Everything her body desires. 

My hands knead the fullness of her hips, thankful for the weight she regained after her battle with cancer. Soft curves replace hard bones, and I kiss her hip, reveling in the soft skin. 

But then I see it. I see THEM, the final proof of our failure, the daily reminder of what she cannot have. 

Of what WE cannot have...

The black, green and brown stand out against her skin, and I bring my lips to them, kissing each one, kissing each bruise, willing my lips and my tongue to erase them. To heal her. 

Tears of anger run down my cheeks, her body my witness to a cruel joke, every bruise evidence of what she has had to endure. I look at her body and suddenly I see it. It's all there. The proof. 

Her breasts heavy and firm, nipples large and darkened in preparation to feed an infant. Her belly swollen and hips round from the excess of hormones coursing through her veins. Her body should be nourishing a new life right now...but instead we are here, emotions raw and grief so palpable you can feel it in the air. 

Standing up, I take her face between my hands and kiss her mouth fiercely, kissing her how she deserves to be kissed. Our tongues communicate where our words fail, our hands touching where our souls need to be healed. 

I told her to never give up on a miracle. I'll never give up on a miracle, because I'll never give up on her. And as my body moves above hers, I whisper my soul's secrets in her ear, gasping her name as our bodies come together. 

I hear my name leave her lips, and kiss the tears that stream down her face, only realizing then that my own tears are falling, our grief similar, our pain shared. 

At this moment, I don't think about what brought us to here. I don't think about the scars and bruises, both faded and fresh that riddle her small body. I don't think about the heartache of this loss- our loss. 

In this moment, there is only her, her passion-filled blue eyes, heavy with desire, boring into mine as we near our release. The sound of her is intoxicating, her soft sighs and moans, and my heart explodes as I move inside of her. Her wet heat encases me, so soft, so unbelievably hot. 

Her whimpers become faster, more urgent. I've dreamed of this moment a thousand times, but nothing can describe the beauty that is Dana Scully as she comes, flushed, sweaty and unbearably tight around my cock. 

Our breaths mingle as I continue to move inside of her, and when she grabs my cheeks and urges my own release I finally let go, spilling inside of her. 

We remain wrapped in each other for long moments after, touching and stroking, kissing and tasting. 

She whispers her love for me in those quiet moments, and I wrap her in my arms, sleep beckoning us. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, the bruises will start to fade. Tomorrow, we will begin to heal. 

Tomorrow, we can believe in miracles.


End file.
